1. Wednesday, September 15, 2004

    tsar will play tonight at a secret show 

    at king king on hollywood blvd. neither karisa or i know what time the gig is. the king king web site isnt mentioning it, neither is the answering machine.

    id call whalen but im up in chopper one right now dictating this to my beautiful intern who tells me that she found a humorous photo from new orleans.

    we had some technical difficulties with my helicopter a few minutes ago and it looked like i was about to part ways with this mortal coil. if that were to happen just know that i have always loved you, and please sprinkle my remains in the ivy of wrigley field if i burn up in a terrible fire or bury me beneath the cliffs of del playa if theres anything left of me.

    i hear people pray all the time on our internal communciations devices. because we employ agents from all over the world you end up hearing some pretty strange prayers. my translators tell me that everything is usually directed to a “god” of some sort and everyone wants their family taken care of.

    i just want the cubs to win sometime soon.

    last night they won in extra innings. barely beating the lowly pittsburgh pirates. but a win is a win and i would rather them barely win than barely lose.

    the bostonians write me and ask how im loving Nomah, who of course is injured currently and i’m happy that theyre gloating because we will see them in rocktober and i bet ya nomah will hobble to the plate in fenway and deliver some magical moments that we very well might be talking about for years to come.

    so dont be so cocky my friends on the other coast

    yet.

    i was watching dusty baker manage last night, and may i add that i love my Tivo, and i saw him yelling at a guy who im pretty sure only speaks spanish, and i was thinking is dusty yelling at him en espanol or does it even matter. oh to be on the bench of a major leauge baseball team during a pennant race if only just to listen.

    oh to be at wrigley for this month.

    oh to be anywhere than in this chilly cockpit.

    im reading steinbeck’s “travels with charley”. its so fucked up that they give adult books to kids and kids books to slow kids. i never liked steinbeck in college but im appreciating him more as a senior citizen. his gentle style doesnt bore me any longer. travels with charley is a non-fiction account of a 58 year-old Steinbeck driving across and around america with his small dog.

    I saw in (my neighbors’s) eyes something I was to see over and over in every part of the nation– a burning desire to go, to move, to get under way, anyplace, away from any Here. They spoke quitely of how they wanted to go someday, to move about, free and unanchored, not toward something but away from something. I saw this lookk and heard this yearning everywhere in every state I visited. Nearly every American hungers to move.

    then he wrote about a young boy who asked to go with him. A boy who promised to do the dishes, to do everything:

    Unfortunately for me I knew his longing “I wish I could,” I said. “But the school board and your parents and lots of others say I can’t.”

    “I’ll do anything,” he said. And I believe he would. I don’t think he ever gave up until I drove away without him. He had the dream I’ve had all my life, and there is no cure. (p.11)

    hopefully we will read later that the cure is in the adventure itself.

    rollerskate skinny + weapons of mass destruction + low culture